


Already Crazy

by stewardess



Series: Already Crazy [7]
Category: Boondock Saints (1999)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-30
Updated: 2004-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-07 02:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stewardess/pseuds/stewardess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ma's out of town. It's a good time for the twins to get their first tattoos. Connor/Murphy, age sixteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Already Crazy

"I'm knackered," Murphy said.

"Aye," Connor said, yawning widely.

They flopped down on chairs around the kitchen table, digging into the fish and chips they had picked up on the way home.

They had found part time work with one of their numerous relations. After school three days a week, and all day Saturday, they labored at a butcher's. Ma was for it as long as it didn't interfere with their studies.

It wasn't likely to; they found school easy. They helped each other, and that made it even easier. It made Ma worry—she thought they were slacking off—but at the moment Ma was gone, visiting relations in the north, where she was supposed to be making inquiries about a summer job for them. Most likely, she was just drinking.

They had already showered and changed at the butcher's—no one wanted to go home smelling like that—so with their bellies now stuffed, they were ready for Saturday night.

They decided to go to a park, because it was a fine evening. The park closed at sunset, but there was a tree-lined hollow where kids went to drink. Sometimes they lit a small fire there. Tonight, with the moon full, they wouldn't need one.

They took along two litre bottles of beer, obtained under false pretenses from _The Anvil_, and extra packets of fags. Murphy brought their coats to spread out on the ground in case Connor got lucky.

They had a few condoms with them as well. It was easy enough to get the goods from over the water, if you had the money. Connor had taken most of the condoms, but that was only fair. Murphy doubted he'd get an opportunity to use any.

There were fourteen at the park that night, nine boys, five girls, all of them their own age, so Murphy felt comfortable. They sat on the ground, drank their beer, and listened to a scratchy radio. A few of the boys broke into a half-hearted scuffle. For once, Murphy felt too at peace to join in.

When the evening cooled, Connor and Murphy built a fire after all, keeping it small so it would not draw the Gardai, the Irish police.

Earlier, Connor had gone into the trees with two girls, returning half an hour later. He seemed smug, but not overly so. Murphy guessed he had managed only a kiss—but probably from both girls.

There were a dozen of them around the fire when someone asked the question.

"Connor, is it true you and Murph saw the Virgin Mary?"

Their questioner was one of the younger kids; he couldn't have been over fourteen.

Connor took a drag on his cigarette, exhaling smoke while nodding his head. "Aye, it's true."

Murphy kept his face somber; Connor was about to engage in some serious teasing.

"What have you heard?" Connor asked the boy.

"That you saw the Virgin Mary in the cathedral at midnight." The boy's expression mixed hope and disbelief.

"She was all in blue and silver, like moonlight was shining on her," Connor said. "She never looked at me, only at Murphy."

A girl tittered nervously.

Connor looked steadily at Murphy. "She laid her hand over Murphy's heart, and said, 'I shall show you the way to God.'"

Murphy was speechless. It seemed Connor _believed_ what he was saying.

"Then what happened?" a girl said.

"She vanished. The place she'd been was lighter for a long time afterward. We were in the cathedral all night."

"Connor MacManus, you are full of shit," an older boy said. "You and your brother both."

Connor smiled, still looking at Murphy. "You like to think God only talks to crazy people. You and that genius Father O'Brien. But you never ask why God talks to crazy people. Do they go crazy because God talks to them? Or do they hear God because they are already crazy?"

Murphy was hypnotized by Connor's eyes. In the moonlight, Connor seemed all blue and silver, just like the Blessed Mother.

"Murphy and me, we're already crazy," Connor said.

The silence following was broken by someone making a rude noise. Everyone laughed but Murphy and Connor.

A short while later, they walked home in silence, occasionally looking up at the full moon. Murphy spoke to himself in his head, which was the same thing as talking aloud to Connor.

_Why did you say the Virgin Mary looked only at me, spoke only to me?_

_Because_, Connor would say, _I didn't think we would see her; you did._

_But I didn't see her_, Murphy told him.

Connor's answer didn't come to him.

When they arrived home, they undressed on the way to their bedroom, dropping their clothes on the floor. In the dark, Murphy felt around on his bed for the shorts he slept in.

He stepped into them, pulled them up, then glanced up quickly at Connor, who was still naked. He'd been sleeping that way, lately.

The moon had followed them home. Its light came in through the windows, falling on Connor. He was no longer blue and silver, but pale gold. Murphy made himself look away.

To ease his conscience, Murphy had resolved he would never start anything. He would let Connor make the first move. Always.

It was hard to hold to, for Connor didn't do it as often as he wanted. Days would go by, then Connor would get on his bed and kiss his neck. That was the signal.

There was little risk to it. They didn't have to worry about disease or pregnancy. They weren't hurting anyone. Ma would have a fit if she found out, but somehow Murphy didn't think she'd call them devils, kick them out. He preferred not to think about it. She could just not find out. No one could. That was the only risk.

He knelt on his bed, wondering if Connor would touch him later, or if Connor would go straight to sleep, as Connor had every night for nearly a month. Or, worst of all, wank and not cover up the sound.

They hadn't done anything more than they had the first time, or the second. Connor would go down on him, or he would go down on Connor. They would rub against each other, or wank each other.

Murphy lay down, turning to face Connor's bed. He wanted to talk about what Connor had said when they were around the fire. But mostly he was desperate for Connor to touch him. He closed his eyes and thought about it. _Please come here and touch me. Touch me now._

He sighed loudly. There was no movement from Connor's bed.

Rolling onto his back, Murphy stared at the ceiling. He didn't feel the least bit sleepy. It was the damn moon's fault. It was so bright, it was keeping him awake.

* * *

"Connor, do ya think I'd look older with a tattoo?"

Murphy examined himself in the bathroom mirror while Connor shaved at the sink next to him.

"What are you going to get tattooed on ya, wrinkles?"

Murphy gave him a shove; Connor pulled the razor away from his face in time to avoid getting nicked.

Connor splashed water on his face, then dried himself with a towel. "If you're getting a tattoo, I'm getting a tattoo."

"Of course, ya retard," Murphy said.

"What do you want to get?"

"Have to look at the designs in the shop and think about it. Maybe a cross or something."

* * *

At the tattoo parlor, they ogled a large ornate Celtic cross in four colors, but they didn't have the money for it yet. It was one color or nothing for now.

After reviewing all of the designs available, they both kept going back to one of the Blessed Mother that was almost abstract in its simplicity.

Murphy looked at Connor, who nodded. "This one," Murphy said.

The tattoo artist, an older man who had full sleeve tattoos on each of his arms, asked, "Where ya want it? Shoulder? Back?"

Connor shook his head. "Put 'em somewhere they'll show all the time."

Murphy grinned. With Ma gone, it was a good time to do this.

* * *

After their tattoos were finished, they left to find a party. Their necks were slightly swollen and sore, and liquor would block the pain.

Instead of Mike's or the park, they went to the flat of an older fellow they had recently met. He was twenty-eight, absolutely fucking ancient. They were sure he let everyone come over so he could go after the girls, but so far he hadn't got into anyone's knickers.

The bloke's place was scary filthy, but they could go outside into the small garden, getting a break from the smoky air, and there was a massive sound system.

When they arrived, the hopeful Casanova was playing reggae and ska.

* * *

After an hour, Murphy saw Connor exit the flat with a girl.

Another hour went by, and Murphy grew hungry. The girl must have taken Connor somewhere, to her room, perhaps. Maybe Connor would be gone all night this time.

Murphy dropped his cigarette butt into his empty beer bottle and left.

When he got home, he made a cheese sandwich, washing it down with a glass of milk. It felt strange to be eating alone at the kitchen table.

He brushed his teeth, stripped off his clothes, put on shorts, and got into bed. His hands automatically slid inside his shorts as soon as he lay down. If he wanked, it would help him get to sleep. But if he wanked, he'd think about what Connor was doing tonight.

He was sure Connor was still a virgin, though Connor had probably done everything else, even given a girl an Aussie kiss. Murphy felt an old twinge of embarrassment, because the first time he had heard the phrase, he hadn't known it meant going down on a girl. _Like a French kiss, but down under._ Their friends had laughed at him for not knowing.

Connor had gotten blow jobs from girls. That Murphy was sure of.

He could always tell how it had worked out as soon as he saw Connor: if it had been satisfying, or a disappointment. Since Murphy still hadn't done more than kiss a girl and touch her tits, he was envious. Connor didn't tease him about it, just sometimes pointed out that maybe if Murphy looked higher than a girl's shoes once in a while, he'd have better luck.

Before Murphy made a decision, to wank or not to wank, he fell asleep with his hands down his shorts.

* * *

Murphy was awakened by moonlight falling on his eyelids. Then he heard Connor moving stealthily in the room. Connor left the bedroom, and the pipes in the bathroom squeaked. Connor was showering, so he must have done it with the girl.

Twenty minutes later, Connor returned and got on his bed. Murphy waited a couple of minutes before speaking.

"What happened to you?"

There was a short pause before Connor replied, as if he was surprised Murphy was awake. "Nothing much."

Murphy sat up on his bed. "Did you fuck that girl?"

"Not really."

Murphy made an exasperated sound. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"She didn't let me finish."

"Why the fuck not?" Murphy asked. Connor had condoms, after all.

Connor didn't answer. Murphy fiddled with his chest, pulling on the few hairs that had finally sprouted there. After he had yanked on them all, he chewed on his fingernails, starting with a thumb.

"She wanted money," Connor said at last.

Murphy was startled. She hadn't looked like a prostitute. She had looked like any other girl they knew. Then he realized what Connor had said.

"She asked for money while you were fucking her, and you _stopped_?"

"Yeah," Connor said.

Murphy didn't think he could have stopped. He might even have promised money and not paid it. "Why didn't you want to pay her?"

"I don't want my first time to be with a prostitute. I'd have to remember her for the rest of my life."

Lying flat on his bed again, Murphy grinned, picturing the prostitute's face when Connor pulled out and left. Must not have happened to her too often. What a time to bring it up!

"Fucken dirty trick," Murphy muttered. He rolled over to face Connor's bed. "Where'd she take you?"

There was no response from Connor.

Connor had come into their bedroom, banged into shit, woken him up, and now he had gone to fucking sleep, leaving Murphy with the moon shining into his eyes.

Or maybe Connor wasn't really asleep, but was waiting until later. Then he'd get on Murphy's bed and kiss his neck. It had been more than a month, for fuck's sake.

But what if Connor had wanked in the shower?

Murphy slid his fingertips over his tattoo, feeling the slightly raised flesh. He'd wait ten minutes. If Connor didn't get on his bed, he'd assume Connor had taken care of business in the shower; only then would he give up and go back to sleep.

He lay quietly, listening to Connor's even breathing. Connor _sounded_ asleep, but he wasn't moving at all. Usually Connor moved around a lot while he was asleep. They both did; it made it hard to share their narrow beds.

A thought stole into Murphy's mind he had been trying to suppress: What if Connor had decided to not ever come to his bed again? Connor had never stayed away a whole month before. The longest had been three weeks. And they had both been sick then, so it didn't count.

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Why the fuck was he worrying so much about this? Connor had to want to do it, because _he_ wanted to. It was that fucking simple.

He slid feet first out of bed until he felt the floor under his toes. Without bothering to stand all the way, he climbed onto Connor's bed as quietly as he could.

Connor was facing away from him, so he bent down and kissed Connor's neck, on the new tattoo—softly, so Connor would not be awakened by the touch if he was really asleep.

Connor turned over and looked at him, his eyes wide open.

Murphy was relieved Connor was still awake, but he quickly became uneasy. Connor's expression was strange. It was the moonlight on his twin's face making it look that way, maybe.

"Why are ya on my bed?" Connor said.

Murphy almost leapt off the bed in surprise, then realized Connor wanted an answer.

"Because," he said. _Because I need you to touch me, ya bastard!_

Connor looked at him for a while in silence. "I wondered, if I didn't get on your bed, if you would ever get on mine."

Murphy was pissed. Did Connor think this was some kind of fucking contest?

Connor wasn't finished talking.

"All this time, you've never asked for it. When I get on your bed, you do it, but I don't know if you really want to, or if you are just doing it to make me happy."

"How are those things different?" Murphy said without thinking. He thought it over, after the fact, and decided his words made sense.

"How are what things different?" Connor asked.

"Making you happy. Making me happy. Same fucken thing." Murphy bent down to kiss Connor's neck again, changed his mind, and kissed his cheek. He stared at Connor's mouth, where he wanted to put his next kiss.

Connor turned away from him, looking at the wall. Murphy held still, stopping himself from kissing Connor again. What the fuck was wrong with Connor?

"It's fucken hell, Murph," Connor whispered.

His unease growing, Murphy stared at the back of Connor's head.

"Maybe the same things don't make us happy," Connor said to the wall. "Maybe I need something different."

There was an invisible blow to Murphy's chest. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, feeling a horrible squeeze around his heart. He must have made a sound or something, because Connor turned and leaned over him.

"I'm all right," Murphy said, although he wasn't.

_You don't make me happy, Murph._ That was what Connor was telling him.

Apparently believing his reassurance, Connor lay on his back and looked up at the ceiling. Looking anywhere but at Murphy.

"I can't do it anymore, Murph. We have to stop."

The pressure on Murphy's chest increased. Maybe he was getting asthma. Smoking too much.

It was fucking _unjust_. Connor had decided everything: when they would do it, what they would do, and now that they wouldn't do it anymore.

"It's not fair," he said at last. "You haven't let me have any say."

Connor finally turned to look at him. His expression was stranger than ever.

"When was it ever fair?" Connor said. He looked away again, back at the ceiling.

For the first time, everything about Connor was a mystery to Murphy, and it terrified him.

"Did I make you mad somehow?" Murphy asked. "Just tell me what I did."

He ransacked his memory for any cause, no matter how unlikely. Only one source of contention came to mind.

"I asked if you wanted to fuck," Murphy said hesitantly. Was that it? Was Connor still mad at him for asking?

He couldn't figure out why he thought Connor fucking him might feel good, because whenever he thought about it, his body sort of buzzed and his mind went stupid.

But Connor still wasn't answering, the fucking bastard. Connor wasn't the only one who had been in hell. What about all the nights he had waited in his bed, only to be disappointed? Hundreds of fucking times!

"Fuck you, then! You won't fucken talk to me, and you won't fuck! And I fucken asked you to!" He pounded his fists on Connor's chest, then flung himself flat on the bed, his breathing loud, out of control. He was going to cry, and it would be unbearable, because Connor wouldn't.

He could remember when he had asked, as if it had just happened. Probably because he couldn't stop thinking about it. But Connor had said they couldn't do it because it would be making love.

Connor didn't want to _fuck_.

_He needs something different._

Murphy started to speak, croaked instead, and tried again. "I don't want to just fuck. Anymore."

His arms automatically spread apart in time to wrap around Connor when Connor turned toward him. Then the rest of him caught up and he frantically kicked the blankets out of the way. Connor's mouth was on his, his soft lips barely protecting Murphy from his teeth.

Connor tugged Murphy's shorts down and off; Connor was already naked. Murphy yelped when their cocks touched each other. He would never get used to that feeling.

Connor gripped the sides of Murphy's head as he kissed him. He had never done that.

Murphy spread his legs further apart and bent his knees when Connor's fingers rubbed the cleft of his arse. All this time, Connor had pretended that part of him didn't exist.

"You gotta turn over," Connor said. Murphy moved before he finished his sentence. Connor knelt behind him, then slid his tongue down Murphy's' back.

Murphy jammed the edge of his fist in his mouth when Connor kissed and licked his arse. Connor's tongue went over his balls, then moved up, and up, right onto his arsehole.

He had thought it would feel good. With Connor's tongue pushing into his arse, there was no longer any question about it. Connor's tongue was _fucking heaven_ there. He was going to say crazy things if Connor kept doing it.

"Connor," he blurted. "Please. Oh God. Please." He wasn't sure what he was begging for. Anything he could get, maybe. He lost control and moaned. It was a huge relief, so he let the sounds come as much as they wanted.

Connor stopped licking him, and he groaned in disappointment. Then Murphy heard Connor spit, and felt Connor's cock press against him. He was sure he was ready.

He wasn't. He muffled his groan by biting down on his arm, just above his wrist.

Connor worked Murphy's arm out from between his teeth, then pushed the side of his hand, palm down, into Murphy's mouth: Connor wanted to feel just as much pain. Murphy bit down, his teeth sinking into the web of Connor's thumb.

Connor pressed in, and Murphy bit harder, until Murphy could feel Connor's hips touching him.

The shock of Connor's cock all the way up his arse was so different and new that he forgot there was anything more to it, until Connor suddenly thrust back and forth inside him.

The intensity of the feeling went up another notch. A few thousand notches. It felt like Connor was trying to get all the way in him.

Before, he had lost himself, and Connor had lost himself, but they had never lost themselves together. He let Connor's hand fall out of his mouth and howled hoarsely. He wanted to pull Connor into himself and keep him there.

He hadn't known Connor fucking him was going to make him insane like this. He desperately moved his body to feel more, spreading his legs apart, trying to lift his arse higher in the air. _Connor's right. Shouldn't do this. It's fucken crazy._

Connor's hips moved forward again and again, bringing ecstasy with them. Murphy learned he could move back against Connor at the right time, make it even better.

"Going to come," Connor gasped into his ear.

Murphy knew Connor was sorry. Sorry he had waited so long to fuck him. Sorry it was going to end. Sorry Murphy hadn't come yet. Murphy could, if Connor touched him for about a second. He tugged Connor's hand to his cock.

For a moment he lost their rhythm. Then he climaxed, the world turning red, then black, while Connor pumped into him, harder than ever.

Connor groaned "Murph!", his hands bruisingly gripping Murphy's hips. Murphy arched his back to ease the force of Connor's final thrust. He slowly slumped flat on the bed when Connor stopped moving.

They rolled onto their sides, still together, and ran out of bed. They slid off and onto the floor, Connor landing beneath him. Separating slowly, they crawled onto Murphy's bed, stretching out side by side.

"Need bigger beds," Murphy muttered as Connor's hands stroked his face.

The way Connor's hands touched him told him everything.

Connor couldn't get enough of him, yet for a year at least Connor had settled for having only a bite of him. Had been afraid to ask for more. Because Connor thought that was all he'd get.

Now that Connor had this of him, Connor had all of him. But Connor already had all of him. Always had.

Connor held Murphy's face with unsteady hands. He looked fretful even now, as he bit Murphy's lip.

"It's all right, Conn," Murphy said, his speech muffled by Connor's mouth. "We're already crazy."


End file.
